


dei dono sum quod sum

by violentdarlings



Series: i shine not burn [3]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, F/F, F/M, Female Dougal Mackenzie, Sibling Incest, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 21:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13843287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentdarlings/pseuds/violentdarlings
Summary: With growing up comes milestones.





	dei dono sum quod sum

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the motto of Clan Lundin: "By the grace of God I am what I am."
> 
> WARNINGS: sibling incest, underage sex.

The thing is, what with everything else, the pronouns thing doesn’t bother Dougal. It’s enough, that Colum calls her brother and his future war chief, that she is called Dougal rather than the dreaded Mary, that she can wield a sword and ride a horse and defend her laird in battle. And no one whines at her to wear a dress, or bear a lady’s name, or worst of all, make a proper marriage. All of that is behind her now.

She rides out with a number of her father’s men to inspect the borders of the Mackenzie lands. Her uncle Rabbie is there in lieu of Jacob, but with a week still to go in their journey he receives word that his wife is taken ill and he must return to Leoch. There’s some grumbling when he announces that he will be leaving leadership in the ‘capable hands of his nephew Dougal’, although the grumblers have sense enough to wait until Rabbie has left before they start.

“I’ll not take orders from a woman,” one man says at the campfire that night, loud enough for even Dougal to hear. She doesn’t bother arguing, and instead advises the man that if he can best her in one on one combat, he may lead in her place.

She leaves him with a number of new bruises, including a truly spectacular shiner to his right eye. She then extends the offer to the rest of the men. Three more take her up on it, and Dougal fights them one after the other, becoming progressively more merciless. She’s frustrated, damn it, but she’s not stupid enough to badly injure a fighting man when they’re out here in the open. Bruises will do well enough for them to learn the lesson.

When the last one concedes defeat, hobbling off with a sprained ankle, Dougal informs the rest that they’ll be moving on in the morning. Not a single man speaks up against her, and for the rest of the journey not a female pronoun is to be heard. If they’d asked, Dougal would have told them ‘she’ and ‘her’ is fine, she doesn’t care, but they do not ask. It was the disrespect she’s taken umbrage at, but that too is gone, and Dougal chooses not to stir the pot further. Enough has been quite enough.

They stop at a brothel on their way back to Leoch – it’s good for morale, and Dougal has no issue with whores. The lassies are all been buxom and voluptuous; exactly the way Dougal likes a lass, not that she’ll get a turn. Her men are all over the girls from the moment they step through the whorehouse door, shouting and shoving for the right to go first. Dougal sighs and sat down in the corner with a dram, her feet up on another chair. There but for the grace of God she might be, permanently led around by a hard cock until age and weariness takes it away. Much better to be female.

The lads stumble upstairs in dribs and drabs, and return relaxed, loose in the way men are after they’ve spent their seed. They drink and eat, and eventually make their way out into the barn where they’re to bed down for the night. Soon enough, it is just Dougal in the brothel, Dougal and the four whores, who are looking more than a little worse for wear after some eighteen lusty men.

Dougal interrogates them ruthlessly nevertheless. Men never seem to think that whores have ears as well as cunts, and some of her best information regarding Leoch and its surrounds come from working girls. She pays them well enough for it, of course, in coin and in custom, in making sure its this establishment her lads visit rather than another.

“Do ye need anything, sir?” inquires the last of the lasses. She is a bonnie thing, with hair almost as red as Dougal’s own and bright, river-water eyes. Her paps are just about spilling over the top of her corset, and there is a sly lilt to her mouth that Dougal likes. The whore trails a finger down her bodice idly; Dougal follows its progress with a smirk.

“Aye, lassie,” she replies. “I’d love nothing more than tae get my mouth on those sweet bubbies of yours and my hand up yer skirts. But ye’ve been with at least four of my men tonight, and I dinnae fancy getting a palmful of their by-blow, if you take my meaning.”

The girl smiles, and it takes years off her face, along with the jaded weariness common to lassies who’ve been working on their back for too long. “Six of your lads,” she corrects. “And they didna spend between my legs, if ye take my meaning.” Dougal raises an eyebrow.

“Ye convinced six proud-blooded Mackenzie men to spend in your hand?” she asks, somewhat impressed despite herself.

The girl shrugs. “I’m good with my mouth.” Dougal laughs aloud.

“Well, then, Ailie,” she replies, taking a gamble on her vague memory of the girl’s name, which pays off when the girl’s smile broadens. “I hope you’ve brushed your teeth, because I plan on kissin’ your pretty mouth until you beg for more.”

Dougal stands, takes the girl’s hand, and follows her up the stairs.

 

She’s whistling the next morning. Her lads are bleary-eyed from the late night, and it would make a liar of Dougal to admit that she’s not weary. But Ailie’s friend Caitir had interrupted Dougal halfway through mapping Ailie’s body with her tongue, and it seemed churlish to refuse to allow the other lass to join them, so…

Dougal smirks to herself all the way home. She doubts any of her lads have ever had two lassies at once. Sometimes it’s good to be a girl.

Something’s afoot in Leoch. Dougal can’t put her finger on it, but her brother’s distracted wave as he sees her in the hall makes her forget abruptly about it. Even after a year of sporadically keeping her brother company in the night, she still doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. Dougal is well aware of the Christian opinion on incest – and that is what this is, she knows it, there’s no denying it. Yet the opinion of a Latin-fettered God seems very far away here in Leoch. She’s already hell bound for her multitude of sins; fornication, murder, her refusal to live in her defined gender role. She only hopes God knows she was the instigator and spares Colum the same fate.

She’s late to visit him in the evening; Colum is already abed. “Thought you might not come,” he says offhandedly. Yet Dougal sees the tiny vial of witch-brew carefully set out of reach by the bed, and that Colum is not wearing a shirt. She wonders if he’s bare underneath, and her cunt gives a sort of longing pulse, like being struck in the middle, but in an entirely pleasant fashion.

“I’ve been away for nigh on a month,” she tells him sharply, bolting the door behind her. “I want to climb ye like a tree.”

Colum laughs, and a little of the stress in his brow, so common to his face these days, lifts. “Ye may have to settle for ridin’ me like a horse,” he retorts dryly. Dougal grins.

“That would please me too,” she replies, throwing off her shirt, discarding her kilt on the floor. “Budge up, ye don’t need the whole damn bed.”

Obligingly, Colum wriggles over until Dougal can slide into bed beside him. She fits the curve of her body to the hard line of his, sighing happily when his muscled arm comes around her. for a man who cannot fight as others do, Colum is absurdly strong. He lifts weighted weapons, she knows, and his aim with throwing knives is beyond deadly. Her brother is nobody’s idea of weak, no matter what he thinks.

“I missed you,” she murmurs into the heavy muscle of his chest. Colum’s arm tightens around her.

“Good to have you back,” he rumbles into her hair. Dougal smiles, reaches down and finds Colum’s prick heavy and hard, and takes the length of it into her hand. Colum groans, deep in his throat, when she starts to stroke.

They’ve experimented enough by now that Dougal knows how he likes it. Long, deep motions, thumbing over the head on the upstroke. He fucks her the same way, as though trying to draw the heart of her out from between her thighs. Dougal wants it, more than she can say, already wet and ready for him. Sometimes even just his scent is enough to rouse her passions.

“D’ ye want me on top?” she asks. Colum hums, as if honestly considering it.

“Nay,” he says eventually. “Not tonight, sister. On your back.”

Dougal’s breath catches. They hardly ever do it like this – Colum’s legs make it hard for him to gain purchase to thrust. But oh, when they do –

“Yes,” she thinks she might be saying, “yes, yes,” and lasts only a handful of ragged thrusts before she’s tipping over the edge, because it’s him, her Colum, her brother, because it’s been a month since she had him, because because because.

“Easily pleased,” Colum huffs, but he’s close too, and that’s what Dougal loves about this, the ease of it, how he can make her come and come again, how desperate he is when he’s balls deep inside of her. Dougal claws her way down his back, almost hard enough to break the skin, and Colum bites her shoulder, pulsing deep inside of her.

“Sorry,” he gasps. Dougal, pinned under his bulk and entirely happy to be there, swats idly at his shoulder.

“Shut up,” she says, and rolls her hips lazily, dragging out the last few strains of pleasure. “I missed this so much.” Colum’s breath is still coming unevenly, but his eyes are as keen as ever.

“Did ye touch yerself in yer bedroll, thinkin’ of me?” he asks dryly, his black hair flopping into his eyes. Dougal laughs and pushes the locks back.

“Wouldn’t ye like to know,” she replies, and Colum rolls off her. There’s a brief moment of clean up – Dougal does _not_ relish the feeling of seed oozing slowly down her thighs – before they resettle, Dougal once again tucked against her brother’s body, dozing peacefully in the afterglow. Here, away from the eyes of the world and its expectations, she is exquisitely happy.

It’s all shattered, of course, when Colum speaks.

“I’m tae be married,” he says, his hand twitching at his side. Dougal opens her eyes lazily and raises an eyebrow at him.

“I ken,” she says, watching his lips part in surprise. “I’ve ken that for years. Ye have to marry, for the clan.” Colum shakes his head.

“I’m tae be married in three weeks,” he says. Dougal stills.

“So soon,” she murmurs to herself. “I’d hoped we might have a little more time.”

“Aye, as did I,” her brother replies. Dougal snuggles herself to him a little closer. She’s not angry. It’s important that he knows that.

“The Chisholm girl?” she asks. Colum nods, she can feel it against her hair.

“Letitia,” he says, with some scorn in his voice. “I’ve spoken to her thrice. I barely know her.” Dougal pats his shoulder.

“Marriages are forged on less,” she tells him. “She seems sweet enough, and she will be a good wife tae ye. The rest will come on time.” Her brother is silent. When Dougal twists her head up to look at him, Colum is eyeing her oddly.

“Aren’t ye angry?” he asks at length. “Because of –” _Us_ , he leaves unspoken.

“It’s not like ye could marry _me_ ,” Dougal points out. Colum scowls.

“I never said that!” he snaps at once. His hand is still twitching. Dougal sighs.

“Ye will always be my brother,” she says, but she can tell this does not satisfy him. She catches his palm in her own, stilling the reflexive movement. She brings his cold hand up to her lips and, in a rare moment of tenderness, kisses it. Colum’s face is still, but his eyes are darting all over her, as if trying to memorise her forever. “Ye will be my laird, and my brother, and ever the lodestone bringing me home,” Dougal tells him softly, as if lowering the tone of her voice might negate the sentiment. “I will love ye until we both perish, and then I will love ye after. But ye must wed. Ye know it. Ye’ve always known it.” She lets his hand fall. “But I will be beside you all the way.”

Colum is silent, his eyes glittering with suspicious dampness. “Very well,” he says at last, and holds out his hand once more. “For the clan.”

“For the clan,” Dougal echoes, and shakes his hand with her own.


End file.
